


d4nt3.asf

by Dogielder



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Edging, Gen, Masturbation in Shower, Omorashi, Wet Clothing, Wet Clothing Kink, only brief mentions of the pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 11:14:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5965216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogielder/pseuds/Dogielder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this took forever oh my goodness, i am so sorry... anyways enjoy the sin</p>
    </blockquote>





	d4nt3.asf

**Author's Note:**

> this took forever oh my goodness, i am so sorry... anyways enjoy the sin

He had woken up late that day. Elliot isn't exactly sure how it happened, really. Okay, scratch that, yes, he does - Flipper. He was used to her waking him up early enough for a walk, with enough time for him to get ready and catch the train in time for work. Except.  _ Oh, there's always an exception. _ Shayla had been kind enough to bring Flipper to the vet yesterday (most places gave Elliot anxiety, and considering the fact that Flipper didn't even legally belong to him it would be even worse), and the creature had had to stay overnight. Hence, nothing to wake Elliot up in time for work.

 

Elliot is immediately groggy, unused to waking up without the sharp click-click-click-click of Flipper across the wood floor to his bed, or without her slobbering all over his face in greeting. This part is not particularly pleasant, granted, but he does miss the dog nonetheless. And, no, it's not just because she was his alarm clock. The dog was a good companion for him, when she didn't use his bed like it was a patch of grass.

 

Elliot has both an alarm set on his phone, and an actual clock set as well to wake him up if all else fails. He isn't stupid.  He knows how to make sure things are foolproof.  _ Except it didn't work this time.  Why didn't it work this time? _

 

When he turns over to look at his alarm clock he immediately realizes why - the numbers are a flashing 5:52, quickly changing to 5:53 as he watches.  _ Shit. Power outage. Did my phone get charged? _ Elliot stretches up just enough to snag his phone off the shelf, yanking it off the power cord before flopping back down.  Thankfully, it turns on in his hand as soon as he disconnects it.

 

Somehow, he had slept through his morning updates from Krista's Instagram. The time reads 8:27; the battery is at 85% and he realizes that his phone was on silent for some reason.  _ Stupid Elliot, going to be late for work. Though I suppose it doesn't matter now. What's done is done. Besides, I'm one of Gideon's most valuable employees. I'm not usually late and he can't afford to fire me.  Why am I wasting time talking to you?  I need to leave for work. I don't know if you're the praying type, but at least root for me getting there on time, okay? _

 

Another jolt of panic finally forces Elliot to get up out of bed, the cold air of the apartment slamming against his bare chest when he yanks the blanket back - there was a meeting today.  An important one, one he definitely cannot be late to.  _ What a great day to wake up late. _

 

There are so many thoughts running through Elliot's always-busy head.  _ What should I wear?  What do I have clean to wear? I need to do laundry- my good pants! _ Elliot thanks whatever deity that might be listening that they were clean (enough) as he yanks them on, along with the first dress shirt he pulls out of his wardrobe. (Again, he sends out a thank you that he had actually washed and folded this one properly.)

 

Socks, shoes...  _ Phone in my pocket? Phone, money in my pocket, keys, water bottle from fridge in backpack? Check... _ The last thing he shoves into his backpack is his phone charger, snagging his keys from next to Qwerty before he practically sprints out the door, down the stairs and towards the subway station.

 

\---

 

Elliot just barely manages to shove himself through the doors of the subway car as he gets on, not able to flop down gratefully as he would have liked into a seat.  Instead, virtually every seat is filled, and he could barely squeeze in as it was.  Rush hour. It didn't matter. He needed to get to work.

 

As the train started to move, Elliot takes a mental inventory of himself. He had managed to grab his phone charger, that was good, and as far as he could tell he was dressed acceptably for a meeting. He had forgotten his hoodie, but not wearing it for one day wasn't going to hurt him. With a soft, annoyed huff through his nose he realizes something - he hadn't used the bathroom this morning.

 

How long had it been, he wonders. The last time he could remember was about 8:30 last night, and gradually sipping a half empty soda from his fridge before going to bed at eleven-something. (That was an alright bedtime, right? Was that when normal people usually went to sleep? Elliot is so used to fucked sleep hours that he doesn't know.)

 

He tries to push these thoughts away, already feeling the uncomfortable pressure settled in his lower stomach, each jolt of the train making itself known.  _ Just ignore it. You're laughing at me right now, aren't you? Or maybe you aren't. I get to control if you laugh at me or not. Sometimes I forget that.  You've been seeming more and more like a real, separate entity recently. Sometimes I want this; mostly I just don't want you to leave, even though you're a part of me. _

 

When it's Elliot's stop, he forgets all about his problem for the time being. Slipping his phone out of his back pocket reveals that it's 9:13, a lot earlier than Elliot had been expecting to arrive. He allows himself to relax slightly as he walks, doing his best to walk and text Angela at the same time.

 

**Elliot//9:14 (to: Angela)**

woke up late. might be late to work, but only by a few minutes

 

Should he text Shayla? That's what normal boyfriends did, text their partners throughout the day, telling them to have a good day at work, that sort of thing. Isn't that what they did?

 

**Elliot//9:15 (to: Shayla)**

hope you have a good day

 

**Shayla//9:15 (to: Elliot)**

you too!!! :)

 

Elliot can't help a small smile as he reads Shayla's response, not expecting her to be up so early. She was already making his day a little bit better.

 

Elliot immediately takes this back as he slams straight into someone on the sidewalk. They're dressed in all white, all fair skin and light blond hair, looking almost as if they were an...

 

"Angela?" Elliot is the first to recover, heart beating fast, a thump-a thump-a thump-a ringing in his head and squirming in his chest. He shakily shoves his phone back into his pocket.

 

Angela is briefly a deer caught in the headlights as she tries to figure out what the hell just happened. Her face clears, instead shifting into a big smile as she realizes who Elliot is. "Hi, Elliot!" she exclaims, looking around at the buildings, the Starbucks right next to them. "I thought you would be at work by now. You remembered about the meeting, right?"

 

Elliot takes a deep breath to calm himself before responding, "Yeah, no, yeah I remembered.  I just. I woke up late."

 

Angela nods, in a way that says she's sure this was only half of the truth.  A way that asks, 'Were you sleeping in late with the naked girl I saw in your bed?'  Elliot tries to ignore it.

 

"Anyway," she continues, "I was going to get coffee. You want some? My tre-at," she says the word treat as a singsong, a raised eyebrow and that tilt of her head that tells Elliot he'll be paying for the next thing Angela deems as a treat. This is the system they've always had ever since they were tiny.  Elliot can barely remember when they didn't do this, in fact.

 

"Coffee sounds good. But, Angela, we need to get to work..."

 

Angela rolls her eyes as she yanks open the doors. "If we sprint, we can make it."

 

One of Elliot's usual pauses. "... You can sprint in high heels?"

 

"Pssh, 'can I sprint in high heels'.  Like, every lady at Allsafe can sprint in high heels. I'll even prove how good I am at it, I'll beat you to the building -- what kind of coffee do you want?"

 

"Uh, vanilla latte. Please."

 

When they have their coffees, they dart out the door towards the building Allsafe is in. Angela had wanted to win, and Elliot lets her.

  
  
  


Okay. Here's where some clarification is needed. On a good day, Elliot could have won, but he usually let Angela win because he likes to watch her be happy. The only problem was that today was definitely not a good day.

 

He regrets not remembering to use the bathroom this morning. Or last night before he went to bed.  _ Too late now. _ Every time his foot hits the ground is an unneeded jolt through his belly, not even pain yet, just unpleasant.

 

Elliot is hoping with all he has that he doesn't have to wait long enough for it to start hurting. The coffee Angela had bought him was almost torture, however. He didn't have a chance to drink it while they ran - of course he didn't - but it was so damn tempting to just toss it into the nearest trash can so he wouldn't have to force himself to drink it later on. The only thing that was really stopping him was the look of disappointment Angela would give if she caught him.

 

They are forced to slow to a brisk walk inside the lobby, Angela grinning at him, smug that she had won.  _ Ollie doesn't deserve someone like her. _

 

"See?" she says. Don't her feet hurt? Elliot is wondering, she walks around in those pretty much all the time... The bathroom in the lobby. He had forgotten it was even there, because he never really used it, and Elliot can barely contain the shiver that runs down his spine just seeing it.  Elliot tries to drift himself toward it, making a loose gesture for Angela to take his drink so he could go.

 

Instead, Angela just shakes her head at him reluctantly, nearly hopping the last few steps to the elevator. "We're late as is, Elliot, I'm sorry." she impatiently presses the up button on the panel, bouncing slightly and staring up at the ceiling, as though it would make the elevator come faster. "If it helps any, I kinda gotta go too." Angela whispers this last part like it's a secret.

 

Elliot doesn't know if that helps at all. If anything, it only makes him more aware of his own growing need. He tries not to copy Angela's bouncing. He'll save the bouncing for when -- if, he gets desperate. He opts for locking and unlocking his knee, trying not to call attention to himself.

 

The ride up to the ninth floor is just awkward.

 

Elliot is doing his best not to think about bathrooms and the drink in his hand, while Angela looks up from the button panel to frown at his latte.

 

"Do you not like it?" she asks after a pause.

 

Elliot stares down at it for about half a floor. "No, it's good." he responds, offering a tiny smile to try and reassure her. Angela smiles back as a courtesy. The truth was, he hadn't had any of it yet. Every single vanilla latte he had gotten from Starbucks had tasted exactly the same, so he knew he already liked them.

 

He just couldn't force himself to bring the straw to his lips. He had gotten the largest coffee he could buy, mostly because he was always in desperate need of some chemical to keep his system running, whether it be caffeine, nicotine, morphine or suboxone. Elliot was still exhausted, as usual, and the energy he needed was right there, waiting for him. Elliot just didn't know if he could drink even half of that and still make it through the whole meeting without... Elliot doesn't want to consider what the possibility of not making it through the meeting would mean.

 

Elliot manages to convince himself to take a gulp, just to prove to Angela that he did like it.

 

\---

  
  


Lloyd is twenty minutes late to the meeting, and counting.

 

Gideon is getting increasingly annoyed, and Elliot watches from across the table as he fidgets. Next to Gideon, one empty seat away from Elliot, Angela is doodling small flowers in the margins of her notepad. Other employees are texting or playing games on their phones, and Elliot could not care less.

 

Outside it is bright, and Elliot can see people milling around in their own office building across the street. His hand, hanging loosely off the armrest, is wet from the last time he had picked up his plastic cup to take a sip of coffee. He's doing his absolute best to focus on the people busy at their own work, instead of the way the coffee is already making a home in the pit of his stomach, not showing signs of vacating any time soon.

 

He watches someone with an unusually blue scarf walk back and forth across the street. Elliot can just barely make out features, but not enough to be able to pick them out if he met them. Their skin might be a couple shades darker than his own, from what he can tell. A sharp suit. High heels, judging by how they walk. Bluescarf walks away, before returning and then disappearing back the other way.

 

"Elliot?" it's Gideon.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Do you.. you wouldn't happen to have Lloyd's phone number, would you?"

 

"Um. No. Don't- don't you have it?"

 

"Well," the older man sighs, "We have his home phone, but I just thought that since you're both in the same department you may have exchanged cell numbers at some point."

 

Elliot just shakes his head no and returns to watching Bluescarf. To his dismay, they aren't back yet.  He checks his phone - Lloyd is now twenty-five minutes late - and decides he can't do this anymore. He's moving to put his phone in his pocket, mouth opening to tell Gideon that he would just go use the bathroom, toes wiggling in his shoes when his body apparently thinks that claiming he was going to go actually meant that he was going to piss right that second.

 

Just as Elliot is about to open his mouth, his syllables are replaced with a voice much happier than his own.  _ Shit. _ It was Lloyd, calling out a cheery:

 

"Hey guys! Sorry I was late, my car was being a bitch, you know?"

 

Elliot settles back down in his seat in defeat. At this point he has no choice but to scoot as far forward as he can, pressing his thighs together underneath the table as tight as he could, and hoping that nobody noticed.

 

He forces himself into gulping more of the coffee just so he can avoid talking to Lloyd.

 

\---

  
  


Elliot estimates that there's still about an hour left of the meeting when he hears the slurp that means his drink is all gone.

 

The noise rings out shockingly loud to Elliot, feeling himself jump the tiniest bit. His eyes snap up from the cup to look around the table, were they all staring at him? Did they think he was being rude? Elliot knows he's fucked up, but he quickly realizes that the only person to give him any kind of glance had been Angela, before she quickly has to go back to writing stuff down.

 

As quietly as he can, Elliot sets the cup down, staring at it.

 

_ Holy shit, did I really just drink all of that? _ Elliot had only meant to drink a fourth, at most. But there was not talking to Ollie, and not talking to Lloyd, and the chance to do something that wasn't just sit there and itch to leave so he could at least pretend to be challenged while he was at his own, safe, desk.

 

He's trying to configure the Tetris of drinking that coffee in his head - the last of half of a 12-ounce soda at about ten last night; the last time he had gone was 8:30. No time to use the bathroom this morning, which, if he had gone, lasted him until about 2:15, on a good day. And Elliot couldn't imagine a worse day.   _ Where the hell did it all go? _ Elliot knows it's a stupid question - he knew basic anatomy. It went down his esophagus, into his stomach, and then to his bladder. But that was just the thing, it hadn't hit his bladder yet, and he was terrified about what might happen once it did.

 

Elliot quickly realizes his downfall is even thinking about this.

 

Everything in the conference room suddenly becomes too bright, too loud, most of Elliot's concentration directed towards the sudden burn in his lower belly. Being aware of it had made it a thousand times worse, and everything else was a distraction trying to make him let go. Another jolt, this time realizing he had probably been acting weird again, and, once more, nobody is really paying attention to him.

 

He tries to come up with distractions. Elliot hadn't seen Bluescarf walk past for a while, and so he had given up on trying to watch for them for the time being.  _ Names, names, names, there's me, Elliot; Lloyd, Angela, Ollie, Gideon, James, Tanay... _ Elliot's train of thought stumbles when he gets to someone he hasn't seen before. A new guy? If he wasn't new, Elliot certainly hadn't seen him around before, blue-grey-green eyes looking around behind glasses that seem a little too big on the man.

 

Elliot tries to ignore him, a new person at work was another break in his routine, one that Elliot definitely did not need today.  It was also another person to witness Elliot make a fool of himself if something did happen, and it only gives Elliot more resolution to keep himself together.

 

\---

  
  


Trying to sit still for the remainder of the meeting is proving a harder task than Elliot thought. Intermittently pressing his thighs together had stopped working well long ago, so Elliot has (discreetly, he hopes) crossed his legs and is busy bouncing his foot in the empty space beneath the table. It helps a little, but Elliot knows that in a short while he'll grow slightly more desperate and have to try and find a new position that would help him not piss himself.

 

There's barely a half-hour left of the meeting, and every single time Elliot looks at the clock he swears no time has passed at all. He knows that if he moves around too much Lloyd and then the others would notice, and just the thought of that happening makes Elliot want to crawl under the table and disappear into the floor, never to be seen again. He's sure Angela and Shayla and the others would only miss him for a few days after, this prospect seeming like a better and better deal as another spasm sends goosebumps rippling across his skin.

 

Elliot is forced into changing positions now, uncrossing his legs and re-crossing them in the other direction. He can't help but bounce his foot a little more vigorously , and his care for others noticing his distress is slowly starting to slip away, bit by bit. The hardest part, almost, is resisting the urge to press a hand between his legs. Elliot can almost feel how much it would help him, but the thought of Lloyd seeing him do that is what stops him.  Elliot knows that, in typical Lloyd fashion, Lloyd would probably look over and think Elliot was fondling himself like a horny teenage boy at school. Elliot can already hear Lloyd saying something like this.

 

Twenty minutes left.

 

_ Come on, Elliot, you can wait another twenty minutes, can't you? It's not that long. You're a grown man, not some preschooler who's barely been potty trained. You can't wet yourself like a child, especially not at work. _

 

Elliot tries to pull in a deep breath to try and steady himself, quickly finding that such things as 'deep breaths' were near impossible in his current state. To his dismay, Elliot quickly realizes something worse than this: talking. Gideon has suddenly roped him back into the conversation, even though Elliot had been assured that his bit of participation had been over some time ago.

 

Elliot isn't even quite sure what Gideon is saying, too focused on the contents of his bladder to give much more than generic answers. Was it about the DDoS attack? Colby? Whatever it is, Gideon seems satisfied with Elliot's answers.

 

When Elliot looks back to the clock and there's only seven minutes left of the meeting, Elliot almost loses it completely. His body thinks that seven minutes means "I get to go right now!" and all Elliot can do is hold back a whimper as he feels the tiniest bit of urine spurt into his boxers. He presses his legs ever tighter together, and is met with another startling revelation: he was, somehow, semi-hard.

 

Yes. Elliot did, sometimes, get sudden erections. It was a fact of life, and he dealt with it and moved on with his day just like most other people with dicks did. He just honestly could not believe that his body had picked now of all times to get one. Getting a boner was embarrassing, sure, and needing to piss this bad was embarrassing, sure, but needing to piss this bad and being hard at the same time? Elliot can just imagine how at peace he'll feel when he finally disappears into the floor.

 

\---

  
  


Elliot is knocked quite rudely out of his daydreams when Lloyd accidentally bumps into him as he stands up. There's a too-loud "Sorry!" from the other man, and Elliot watches as Lloyd collects his things, first in slight shock, then in realization: the meeting was over.  Elliot could leave.  Almost immediately, he feels a wave of relief crash over him, just the thought of finally, finally getting to use the bathroom sending a shudder through his body.

 

"Hey, um, Lloyd, Angela, Ollie, Elliot?  Could you four stay back after the others have left? I need to talk to you for just a quick second."  Gideon doesn't look mad or anything of the sort, but nevertheless Elliot feels dread like a cinderblock pressing on his chest.  Sitting through that entire meeting was horrible, and now he had to stay even longer? The universe truly is working against me today, Elliot thinks.

 

The rest of the employees take far too long collecting their things and leaving the room, although Elliot supposes he's the only one who was thinking this. Didn't Angela say she needed to use the bathroom too? It didn't matter, not right now. Lloyd is trying to strike up a conversation ("Hey, have you seen the newest episode of 'My Strange Addiction'?" "No.") and Angela is happily looking over the gardens that have formed on the edges of her pages.  Gideon must not care, and Elliot honestly wondered if it made Gideon's day a little better when she did that.

 

Finally, the last person leaves (its New Guy, go figure) and Elliot is trying his hardest not to bounce in his seat as Gideon regards them quietly for a few moments before breaking out into a smile.

 

"You all know that you're my favorite employees, right? Don't worry, I don't say that to everyone, I really mean it." Everyone except for Elliot laughs politely at Gideon's joke. It wasn't that Elliot usually laughed at Gideon's jokes, but now he just didn't think he could force himself to laugh at it if he wanted to.

 

"Anyway," Gideon continues, waving a hand about dismissively, "I just... wanted to thank you for being such amazing people, and for sitting through that meeting. I didn't want to be there either, believe me. So, I would like to give you four the rest of the day off."

 

There is momentary silence in the meeting room, all four of them realizing what this means for vastly different reasons.  It is broken as Angela starts to protest about how there was so much work to be done that she could never leave work, but Elliot has already tuned all of it out.

 

_ I know, I know. It's Angela, why tune out Angela? You've known her since you were eight. Please, cut me some slack here, okay? Just this once. _

 

Ollie, of course, turns to ask Elliot if he wants to go to some restaurant or bar because now that the rest of their day is free Elliot could not possibly have any plans, and the three of them could go hang out because Ollie didn't want it to be awkward anymore and blah blah blah.

 

"Uh. G-gonna hang out with Shayla for the rest of the day."

 

Ollie looks crestfallen, and Elliot doesn't care one bit.

  
  


The thought of forcing himself to stand up and walk (more like stumble) to the bathroom makes his heart rate jump once more. He's already doing his very best to hold it together while sitting, Elliot couldn't imagine how difficult it would be when he finally stood up. And, now, he has to confront the fact that 'when' has turned into 'now' and all his waiting for 'now' was worth it.

 

Slowly, oh so slowly, Elliot uncrosses his legs, already feeling adverse effects from just this simple movement.  Holding back his noises of distress was difficult before, and now Elliot only manages to stop them from escaping by biting his lower lip as he pushes himself up out of the chair. His teeth pressing in even harder into skin as the full weight of the liquid inside of him settles uncomfortably as gravity does its work.

 

Elliot is shaking as he collects his things, trying not to show how horribly desperate he is while still trying to get out of there as fast as he could manage. Bending down to pick up his backpack is the most difficult part, and, fuck, Elliot actually does whimper at how much that act suddenly hurts before he forces himself to straighten up and act like nothing's wrong. The tiniest noise escapes as he feels yet another gush of piss escape him, this time much more than the last.

 

Elliot is forever grateful that his black pants reveal next to nothing.

 

\---

  
  


Here he is.  After hours of waiting, finally, finally Elliot stares at the sign that reads 'MEN'S BATHROOM'. And, as his heart sinks with despair, the 'OUT OF ORDER' sign posted just below it.  Because of course the bathroom had to be out of order, didn't it. Of course it did.

 

And Elliot is angry. At himself, for not waking up on time. At Angela, for not letting him go when it was the perfect opportunity. Angry (irrationally) at Flipper for needing to go to the damn vet and not being able to wake him up. Hell, he was angry at Gideon and Lloyd and Ollie too, even though Elliot knew that they had nothing to do with this, not in the slightest.  The anger is quickly knocked away as another spasm sends shudders through his body, drawing a loud gasp from his mouth as Elliot presses his hands into his groin without thinking.

 

"Oh no no no, please, no... I am not gonna wet myself oh please no..."

 

Somehow, this time, Elliot manages to hold it all in until the twinges subside for the time being. He tries to choke back all the noises crawling up his throat but only succeeds in stopping the loudest few, the rest just soft whimpers and what Elliot won't admit are moans.  His breathing is heavy when he can finally stand up straight again, face flushed in embarrassment. He doesn't want to take his hands away for fear people might see the damp spot he can feel, and even more so the fact that he realizes he's even harder in his pants then he was before.

 

Is this a thing I'm into now? Am I getting off on this?  Elliot doesn't want to think about that, not in public. He would allow himself to consider it further when he was safe at home and not so desperately full of liquid.  Now, what he had to worry about was getting home in his current state. The thought of just darting into the women's restroom had crossed his mind, but Elliot had decided against that.  He hated public bathrooms as it was, no use making all of this worse if someone caught him in there.

 

Reluctantly, Elliot pulls his hands away to hang (what he hopes is) nonchalantly by his sides, resettles the straps of his backpack on his shoulders, and takes as deep of a breath as he can.

 

_ I can do this.  I can make it back home. Just you watch me. _

 

Thankfully, the elevator is empty all the way down to the first floor, allowing him time to squirm and try not to whine for a few moments.  He knows there's a security camera, but at this point he doesn't even care.  The big, open foyer is the worst yet. Too bright, too many people, too many clicks and squeaks of shoes on the polished floor, people mumbling away at cell phones. Elliot can't even force himself to look up at the bathroom down here, lest that one be closed too, his only focus at this point to get home.

 

Taking the subway to get home was absolutely out of the question.  Elliot knew, without a doubt, that he would completely lose it if he tried to get home on the train. (He tries to ignore the warm rush of arousal the thought brings him, hating how his hard on actually helps to make him less desperate.)  So Elliot ends up settling gingerly into a cab, gritting out his address and planting his hands firmly between his legs.

 

Elliot didn't give two shits if the driver saw him, and knows for a fact they did. Much to Elliot's relief, they seem to be doing their best to avoid potholes and large cracks, and Elliot couldn't be more grateful. Still, there was the inevitable traffic and unavoidable potholes. Elliot honestly thought he was doing quite well for his current state, despite his now-constant shaking and occasional whimpers.  The urge to actually rub at himself through the damp fabric is settled in the peripheral of his thoughts, trying not to bring it to the front of his mind in case he actually starts to do so.

 

"Hey, hey dude!"

 

"Wh-what?"

 

"We're here. Isn't this where you wanted to go?"

 

Just like that, Elliot looks up and sees that they're right outside his apartment building.

 

He doesn't even have time to remember how much the ride cost him, just pulling out cash from his pocket and shoving it into their hand, before stumbling out of the cab and doing his best to mount the front steps on wobbly legs. Steps seemed to be his downfall, but Elliot had known this was a lost cause a long while ago, each flight up to the fourth floor jostling and painful.

 

Once Elliot reaches his own door, he's just barely holding it together, both his bladder and his dick throbbing.

 

The door clicks shut behind him, his backpack touches the floor, and suddenly Elliot can't take another step forward. It isn't that he doesn't want to - the thing he wants the most right now is to be able to go piss in his own bathroom, believe you him - but Elliot just doesn't think his body can take even the short distance to the bathroom.

 

Tentatively, Elliot tries one, two steps and that's all he can take.  A loud, relieved moan pours from his throat as the urine soaks the front of his pants, before dripping down the insides of his thighs.  The only thing Elliot can do for himself now is grip onto the back of one of his dining room chairs, a softer, though no less happy, sound burbling up willingly as he realizes he can actually hear the hiss of it in the relative quiet of his apartment.  Elliot risks a glance down at himself, black denim fairly glistening with the wetness. And, damn, Elliot honestly can't believe there was that much liquid inside of him, because there's still more, and Elliot presses a hand against his stomach as he lets out the final few gushes.

 

Elliot is still letting out soft groans of relief after he's finished, the noises slowly subsiding as he collects himself.  He didn't even realize it would feel that good, almost to the point of feeling like an orgasm, and as another spike of arousal wriggles in his lower belly Elliot realizes he would probably be up for that too.

 

There's not much of it on the floor, thank goodness, as most of it had soaked into his jeans. Elliot was already mad at himself for this happening, he couldn't imagine how exponential the shame would have been if there had been an actual puddle.  Elliot gingerly makes his way over to the bathroom, shivering slightly as the now-cold fabric brushes against warm skin.

 

The shower is turned on first to warm it up as Elliot sets about the task of undressing himself after all that. First is his shirt, the bottom of the light blue fabric wet and heavy from where it had been tucked in.  Elliot carefully tosses it into the corner, careful to ball it up so that the dry parts are on the outside.  Next come his shoes and socks, absolutely hating the way they're wet too, and he tosses them atop his dress shirt. The only wet parts on his belt are the ones his own hands are leaving, and he lets it drop to the floor where he stands.

 

Soaked denim is the most difficult part, clinging against skin and bunching up in odd places that just make it all the more uncomfortable. Elliot gingerly shimmies them off, doing his best to not get anything else wet, letting out a soft huff through his nose at the slight relief taking those off gives his erection.

 

Elliot had been doing his best to ignore his hard-on, he really had.  It was becoming increasingly difficult, however, now that there was nothing stopping him from doing so. The air in the bathroom is now comfortable from the hot shower, and Elliot knows he should climb in now, but he just. Wants to try something.

 

He can already feel his chest tightening with choked back moans at the first stroke of his cock through his dark-wet boxers. It isn't even really that, just a firm hand rubbing at himself, movements halting somewhat at moments as the wetness creates a strange friction. Elliot hates how much he loves this already.

 

He's still hesitant as he more fully curls his hand around his member, taking a slightly nervous glance down at himself. Elliot allows himself a soft groan when he sees the slightly darker spot of precum.  Elliot trails his other hand up his chest and to a nipple, rolling it between his fingers, dick throbbing in his hand and the dark spot growing to a clear bead as Elliot watches.

 

Elliot didn't usually want to wait. He was more one for instant or near instant gratification in most things he did, although he did his best to stay patient. It's not that he hated waiting, no, it was simply the anticipation that kept him on edge, and this extended to things as simple as him jerking off. In short, Elliot wanted a fist around his cock  _ now _ , not this admittedly enjoyable torture he was putting himself through.

 

And why should he be waiting?  Elliot isn't sure of that himself, the only thing in his way his own consciousness stopping his hands from taking off the damn boxers.  He allows himself a few more moments of this slow teasing before stopping reluctantly, instead hooking his thumbs into the waistband so he can push the soaked fabric down his hips and off, thrown haphazardly atop the rest of his soiled clothes.

 

His erection now bobs between his legs, but Elliot ignores it for the time being in favor of sliding back the door to his shower just enough to slip inside.  The once-hot water is now lukewarm, and so it is adjusted until it's nearly too hot. Elliot knows that if he kept this going for too much longer it would be a lot extra on his bill, but at this point he could not care less.

 

The sting from the water feels amazing on his entire body, already feeling like the grime of the day was being washed away, letting himself slowly relax under the spray. The toll all of this took on him is starting to make itself known as well, body feeling heavy and exhausted. Slowly, Elliot lets himself sit down on the slippery tiles, head tilted into the water to just enjoy it for a few moments.

 

After a few seconds he pulls away, wiping water out of his eyes so he could see what he was doing.  Elliot lets his legs fall open as he gets comfortable. Leaning back on one hand lets the water drum against his chest and belly, the sensation on his aching cock not enough, hips involuntarily bucking a little in search of anything more.  The idea of how good this feels is stored away for another time, but Elliot figures he's waited long enough.

 

Elliot can't help but moan, breath hitching, when he finally curls a hand around himself.  He already knows he isn't going to last long by the way his hips wiggle impatiently to try and fuck his own hand.  Elliot starts out slow, fingers brushing that sensitive spot on the underside of the head with every upstroke and hips pressing forward every time his hand meets the base.  He stops this for a moment to just play with the sensitive, swollen head of his cock, thumb rubbing circles, not even quite aware of what else he was doing, just that it felt amazing.

 

His hips twitch once more and Elliot decides that's it. Elliot isn't even aware of the noises he's making, hips snapping up erratically into his own hand as his fingers tighten. The looming orgasm is already coiling in his lower belly and he doesn't have the energy to deter from that anymore.

 

There's only time for another couple good, hard strokes before Elliot is coming with a shout, eyes squeezed shut even harder, grinding into his fist without thinking.  He comes so hard he swears his vision went white for a few moments, and the only thing he can do now is sit there and gasp as the few, still intense, aftershocks ripple through him. Elliot dares trying to move his hand for a couple more slow strokes, which only earn him more shudders and gasps from oversensitivity.

 

Elliot heart rate finally starts to settle as he takes a shaky breath. The tile floor is now getting slightly uncomfortable underneath him, but he's not sure he even has the energy to stand up right now, noting how wobbly his legs are even as he merely stretches them out in front of himself.  Elliot allows himself another while basking under the hot water to collect his senses, but he figures it's been long enough when he nearly falls asleep, just barely catching himself.

 

Slowly, Elliot sets about what his original intention was, a soapy washcloth rubbed lazily against his skin in an effort to feel at least a little more productive. It doesn't help much.  The washcloth is dropped to the floor in defeat before Elliot hauls himself up. With much regret, he has to turn the water off, not shivering as much as he had expected in the steamy air of the bathroom.

 

He pulls a crumpled towel off from the rack where he had shoved it, glancing down at his dirty clothes as he rubs droplets off his face.  Elliot knows he should deal with them now, but he's far too sleepy to care as he trudges to his bed, halfheartedly drying off as he goes.  The towel is dropped by the side of his bed as he gratefully drops down onto it, the sheets arranged around him in a position that is comfortable enough for now.

 

Once he's settled, Elliot finds himself looking at the ceiling. Elliot can already feel himself start to drift off as his eyes trace all the faces he finds in the cracks up there.

 

And the last thing he thinks of before his vision slips into darkness is a little mental note, one that says: _I should try that again sometime._


End file.
